There was a tension in Angeles’ voice, something that made the beautiful notes sound lower, truer, more defined that his usual cadence that roused an ache in Kirin’s chest he did not understand. Lifting his hand, his slight fingers begged to find flesh beneath their touch, and so he filled the need, caressing Angeles’ cheek, tracing the line of his jaw down to his lips. Those words seemed too familiar - a feeling he also understood. Though likely for a different reason. This creature was one that could not be real, he had often contemplated, the embodiment of some fantasy that was never known to him until he found it. It was relieving to confirm that madness did not yet rule his mind, to understand that what happened was not fueled by delirium, and even though he was sure that his own mind could never make up such an imagination, he understood the fear of it. For the first several nights, he was sure that every time he descended into the pit, there would be nothing waiting him.

    “What are you?”

     The words escaped him without conscious desire to convey them, though it was not the first time he had asked. He could feel Angeles tense immediately, the hold around him tightening just enough to make him breathless, saw the faintest furrow threaten the lines of that perfect face. The pounding of his heart froze, and he felt it plummet. Not yet, he supposed. Whatever brief opening he had found was closing, and his insatiable nature would not be satisfied this time. However, before he recoiled himself, he was startled to hear a response.

     “When you have conquered your fear of what I am, I will tell you. To start with,” his voice was crisp, harsher than before but not cruel, and as the words met Kirin’s ear, his body was pushed down. Their positions altered as swiftly as the mood, his sunken heart resurrected with a vengeance that had it fluttering like an innocent school girl in his throat as Angeles leaned over him. His large hands clasped around the comparatively frail wrists of the younger immortal, drawing them up and above his head as Angeles shifted his leg up, sliding his knee between Kirin’s thighs to grind against the sensitive area guarded there. “My patience is exceeded. If you will not give yourself willingly, you will be claimed forcefully.”

     The words that were prepared to burst forth were silenced as Angeles crushed his lips against Kirin’s. Far more aggressive than he was anticipating, given their exchange up until now, it left him breathless and at a loss for how to respond. Testing the hold on his wrists found them mercilessly constricting, which he was utterly unsurprised by. And, as if in punishment, attempting to pull away caused a tantalizing shift in the crimson haired demon, his body lowering to press lewdly against the slender form of his companion. Hips against hips, Angeles’ leg sliding up and under Kirin’s, forcing their groins to kiss under the fabric which guarded both flesh. The hardness of his companion was more than evident, and the sudden sensation of movement filled his mind with promises of lascivious pleasures, rousing a moan from his throat that was greedily devoured by the fiery kiss.

     His mind was driven blank. The reasons to protest seemed like a distant, clouded memory which were so insignificant, he did not dwell on them beyond a passing fancy as he sought to open his mouth more to the brutality of his partner, accepting the force as only one of his ilk could. Violence and passion were never far apart among the immortals, ever on the verge of lust and carnage. It hurt, his wrists ached, his lips split, and teeth nicked his tongue, tainting the flavor of the kiss with sweet copper. It only increased Angeles’ voracity, and Kirin felt himself reacting in kind, arching his body upwards to press more of his flesh against his companion, seeking the burning heat the contact accompanied.

     When the pressure was released from his hands, Kirin no longer felt the urge to complain or pull away. The anxious bubble in his gut was persistent, but he resolved to overcome it, and his present stimulated state made such a feat easier to accomplish. And, in this venture, he was sure that a refusal would fall on deaf ears. He was tired of being pathetic - it was far more gratifying to indulge in his impulses. Angeles leaned back, perching on his knees as he pulled off his shirt, exposing the finely toned musculature to the faint blue glow of the chamber. The surplus of shadow worked to accentuate every definition in the sculpted perfection, and the urge to taste them, to trail his tongue over that expanse and feel the tissue quiver beneath his soft touch hit him hard.

     So, naturally, he did just that.

     Sanguine color staining his lips, smeared from the brash affection, Kirin pressed a tainted kiss against Angeles’ hip bone, flicking his tongue out to trail it upwards, following the line of his pectoral muscle. Satisfaction caused his chest to clench in a fit of excitement as the skin tensed beneath his touch, as he heard the quick breaths of his companion, felt the pulsing of a rapid heart within his veins. All a reminder that he was a man with the same urges and desires as Kirin, that whatever else there may be, they would yearn for the same measure of gratification. It made him, in this moment, attainable, relatable - less a monster in a cell, and more a kindred spirit as lost and alone as he, himself, was. And it also made him a thousand times more arousing, to witness a stirring in the other that could only be caused by the younger immortal.

     In the light of day, perhaps Kirin would look back on this moment with regret, shame, a sense of disgust - when the trappings of confinement fell away, his eyes may see clearly again, the enchantment of the beautiful beast broken. He may feel dissatisfied to have so often caved into the passion of the moment, rather than remaining stalwart and dignified. And even as some logical, clinging to denial part of him attempted to bring these thoughts to the fore of his mind, the raven haired prisoner could not bring himself to acknowledge anything but the touch and yearning for his companion.

     The pain of his situation, the shame of his failing, the fear of the future - for the first time, he let it go. It shed from his mind as easily as the tattered fabric that passed as clothing fell from his form, leaving his flesh bare beneath the mixed tender and harsh caresses he was receiving. Was Angeles holding back? It was a curious realization, one which had the amethyst gaze searching over the expression of the mysterious man, finding it yet guarded but seeking in its own right. In little time, whatever vain clothing had guarded the isolated pair from one another was cast aside, leaving nothing to the imagination in the soft azure glow of their chamber - and that is when he was quite sure.

     The tension, the hesitance, the need to force but the awareness to hold back. It seemed glaringly obvious now with every touch, every faint scrape of the claw that roused a red line beneath pallid skin without piercing the membrane. And it was suddenly maddening. However smaller he may be, however weakened by this place, it cut into his masculine pride somehow that he was being handled with such delicacy. What might have been touching to a maiden incited a sudden urgency in him, and the male would likely later regret throwing away his caution so easily. For now, he reached up, entwining his fist into Angeles’ long, silken locks and pulling down forcibly, demanding a descend into a kiss, which he was granted without resistance beyond the initial tug.

     He had to push himself upwards on his knees, his size not a match for the towering frame of his partner in crime, but he kept hold of the captured hairs to ensure some measure of control as he plunged his tongue boldly forth. Between lips and fangs he ventured, tasting and exploring the interior region of such a sensitive place, finding an intoxicating fulfillment within as he found a willing counterpart that lapped away at his own bruised muscle. Attempting the same aggression he had felt, gathering up the courage fueled by that overwhelming carnal desire within him, he pressed harder into the kiss, his other hand reaching up to curl slender digits around Angeles’ neck. When he pulled away, his lungs demanding a reprieve as they burned with neglect, he felt the warm, quick gasps of the older creature on his lips and felt a jolt of encouragement, allowing their breath to mingle a moment longer before he spoke.

    “I’m not a glass doll, and I’ll not run away this time.” It was hard to speak without gasping, he realized. Frustrating. Angeles’ hands shifted, one moving to cup around his lower back, lifting him slightly to press swollen members against one another, while the other captured his chin and held his face in place, glowing honeyed eyes swirling with unbridled desire. It made him shudder with anticipation, and he rocked his hips against his devilish companion, managing to force out, “Just hurry and fuck me so I can’t disappear.”

     When did he dig his grave so deep? There was nothing left to do but lie in it and enjoy being devoured.

     “Are you a coward or a dare devil?” The question hung in the air, unanswered, as the constraints were broken and whatever reservation was being held was shattered. 

     Over and over and over - pain and pleasure seemed to become the same thing, the joining of their bodies something shocking, unexpected, and savored again and again until his mind drew blank. 

     Some part of him understood on an instinctive level that he would be forever changed after this - that the memory of this would corrupt his body somehow, that the sensation of being filled and displaced so fully might become something he craved, when the memory of the pain and fear dissipated. He felt that this was the first time Angeles was being honest with him, after all, and had he not asked for it? Whatever would come to pass, at least he could remember this moment, with joy or resentment or lust. But not regret.